


Three More Nights

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Post canon, casteshipping - Freeform, hurt comfort, will tag more later ao3 is giving me grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 22:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: Sequel to Three Nights: Bakura wants to sleep off his fever, but the pounding at the door won't stop...





	Three More Nights

Lying on his couch, Bakura curled in a ball. Three blankets swaddled around his body. He shivered, but his skin was fiery to the touch. Every centimeter ached in that specific, tender way which guaranteed he had the flu.

“Stupid fucking gods,” Bakura swore under his breath as he tugged the blankets more tightly around his shoulders. “Should have given us antibodies to modern diseases before shoving us back on earth.”

This was the second time he’d gotten sick in the short months he’d been back. Last time Ryou dragged him, kicking and screaming, to the doctor and they’d given him antibiotics. Later, Ryou forced him to go again for vaccines. Bakura was fed up with waiting rooms, nurses, and jackasses in white coats. This wasn’t the first fever he’d weathered out on his own, and it wouldn’t be the last, so he shook under layers of fleece blankets and vowed to wait until his fever passed.

A knock on the door made Bakura groan. Moving _hurt_. It hurt in a deeper, more complete way than stabbing himself ever did. Then again, he’d been in a borrowed body when he’d plunged a knife in his arm. Now all the pretty little nerves beneath his skin belonged to him, and each one screamed in rage as he trudged toward the insistent knocking.

“The fuck do you want?” He shouted before he had time to see who was on the other side.

A Shiba puppy ran to Bakura, pressing his paws onto Bakura’s shins and yipping. On instinct, Bakura crouched and allowed the dog to sniff the palm of his hand. Any asshole who said they didn’t believe in “love at first sight” clearly had the wrong idea of love and never consider dogs. Bakura scooped the puppy into his arms, giggling as the pup licked his fevered cheeks.

“You damn mongrel—you’re soaking wet!” Bakura pulled off his t-shirt and rubbed the pup’s fur semi-dry with the thin cloth. 

“Um...sorry…” a familiar voice said above him. “I found him behind a dumpster, and it’s pouring out, and I couldn’t walk...any furth—”

Bakura looked up, shocked to See Atem standing in his doorway. Bakura opened his mouth to curse him, but Atem collapsed onto Bakura’s floor. The dog squirmed out of Bakura’s arms, jumped to the floor, and barked at Atem to wake him.

“Hey Pharaoh, what's up? Come on in. Make yourself at home. Pass out on my floor. Thanks for the puppy, I guess?” Bakura spoke to the unconscious man sprawled beside him, too sick to really care. “How the fuck do you even know where I live?”

He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed Atem’s ankles, and dragged him into the hallway. Bakura laughed as he dropped Atem’s feet and slammed the door. Success. Pest out of his home. Now back to his blankets. He was keeping the puppy. However, the half-soaked ball of fluff yowled at the door, pawing at the threshold of the apartment.

“Oh no, no, no. You’re free to stay, but that thing’s gotta remain in the hall. I don’t even think he’s housebroken,” Bakura explained to the dog.

But the puppy continued to whine and stare at him with Ryou-like brown eyes. Bakura probably could have said no to Ryou, but not to the puppy, so he twisted his face in disgust, went into the hall, and lifted the Pharaoh into his arms.

“I guess he can crash on the sofa for a single night—but I swear to Thoth, nobody better ever find out about this. I don’t want any unsavory rumors of friendship spreading among the ranks.”

Bakura set Atem on the carpet and shut his apartment door. Atem shivered, his clothes and hair soaked through. Bakura rolled his eyes and fetched a stack of towels and a bathrobe he never wore. Bakura stripped Atem of his wet things, wrapped him in the robe, and dried his tri-colored locks before settling him in the nest of covers Bakura had been huddled in before the interruption. Despite Bakura’s fever, Atem’s body burned to the touch—far worse than Bakura’s. Bakura glared at Atem tucked away beneath the three blankets.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s caught the flu. You idiot, what the fuck were you doing walking in the rain this time of night anyway? Where are your dumb friends? Whatever. It’s not my problem.” Bakura turned to the dog who was running laps around Bakura’s living room. “Hungry little dude?” Bakura whistled to summon the Shiba to the kitchen.

The dog yipped, wagging his tail as Bakura rummaged through the fridge. He found a styrofoam container of suitable leftovers and left them on the floor with a bowl of water for the pup. Exhausted and still aching, Bakura trudged to his own bedroom. He loaded his bed with the last of his blanket supply and snuggled beneath them, passing out and dreaming about a magician decapitating a cow’s head before using magic to restore the beast to life. The dream was strange and fevered, barking woke Bakura from it. He ground sand out of his eyes before checking his cell phone and noticing it was 3am. 

“Someone shut the damn dog up,” Bakura grumbled before he remembered it was technically his dog causing the noise. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Bakura stopped in the hallway to piss and drink water from the sink, figuring the dog also needed a bathroom break. When he entered the living room, however, he was surprised to hear violent, wracking sobs from the figure buried beneath the blankets. The puppy leapt for the couch, but was too small and tumbled onto the floor.

“Okay, okay.” Bakura lifted the pup and set him on top of Atem’s chest.

Atem reached out—not for the dog. He grabbed Bakura’s wrist. Bakura’s body went rigid. He jerked away, but Atem’s fingers were a vice around him. 

“Bakari—” Atem cried in desperation. 

Bakura froze at the name. It was somehow familiar and foreign at the same time. It reminded him of his dream. Insistent, Atem tugged Bakura’s arm, frantic to pull him close. 

“Asshole. You’re sick. I’m sick. Go back to sleep. I’m not dealing with your fever hallucinations.” 

“Don’t leave me again!” Atem wailed. “Please!” 

Bakura swayed on his feet, too sick himself to process the situation. Whatever fever-dream Atem suffered from had him wailing in raw, broken grief—the sort of grief Bakura was familiar with, but never imagined pouring from his enemy. The dog whined with Atem, and Bakura found himself lifting Atem enough to slip beneath him on the sofa. 

“The fuck am I doing?” Bakura groaned, both from soreness and the sense he’d lost his fucking mind. It was simply easier to lay there and make both Atem and the puppy stop crying instead of trying to drown out the noise in his room. 

Atem buried his face into Bakura’s chest and wept, wept, wept. 

“Idiot, you’re going to get dehydrated,” Bakura muttered, but fell asleep before he could think to get water for either of them. 

Bakura woke again—hot and aching worse than the day before. The puppy scratched at the door. _Now_ it was a bathroom call. Atem lay with all his limbs knotted around Bakura, nuzzling peacefully against Bakura’s chest as if they were lovers. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bakura untangled himself with a snort and stumbled to the kitchen. 

He chugged a glass of water and popped three aspirins in his mouth in hopes it’d deal with his ongoing fever. He left the re-filled glass and the bottle of pills on the coffee table and fumbled his way to his bedroom where he changed. Prepared to deal with the bullshit weather, Bakura let the puppy out and walked him around the block. During the trip he stopped by a store to get a collar, leash, ball, rope toy, and a bag of kibble. He also swung by a ramen shop for two to-go orders. 

Letting himself inside the apartment, Bakura kicked the door closed—arms full of bags. 

“Bakura? What are you doing here?” Atem stared at him from the sofa. 

Atem’s eyes glowed bright, rich mahogany-violet. His face was flushed with fever blossoms growing high on his cheekbones. Atem’s hair scattered around his head, bed-ravaged and wild. The sight…looked so familiar to Bakura. The shiver attacking his spine wasn’t from his own fever, but rather deja vu. But it was impossible. Bakura had seen the Pharaoh flushed from battle and mussed from fighting, but he’d never seen him as he was sitting on Bakura’s couch. 

“It’s my apartment you fucking twit.” Bakura set the ramen on the table.

He fed the dog before sitting in his chair to eat himself. The hot, salty broth made Bakura sigh. It was exactly what his sick body craved.

“Why am I in your apartment?” Atem asked. 

“That’s a good fucking question,” Bakura said. “I opened the door and a puppy ran up to me, and then some asshole passed out beside me—congratulations, you’re the asshole in this story if you didn’t figure it out.” 

“Taro!” Atem gasped, searching the living room. 

Bakura whistled and the puppy ran into the room yipping. Grabbing the rope toy, Bakura coaxed the Shiba into playing tug-a-war, slurping noodles into his mouth with his free hand. 

“He likes you.” Atem smiled, but his eyes were glazed with fever. 

“I get along with things who aren’t people. I’m a very fucking charming person.”

“Surely.” Atem patted his lap and the Shiba ran to him. Atem picked up the puppy so he could pet him. “There was a dueling competition last night at a local venue. On my way home the storm caught me off guard and I started running, but I heard a sad whimper. It took me awhile to find him hiding behind a dumpster. I tried to shelter him from the rain, but we were drenched, and I started feeling dizzy. I didn’t know what to do, so I dashed to the nearest apartment building and knocked on the first door.” 

“Lucky me.” Bakura tilted the bowl to his lips and chugged the broth. “If you don’t eat yours—I will.” 

“Mine?” 

“Ramen, stupid. Godsdamn, how high is your fever?” 

“You bought me...ramen?” 

“Don’t go making a big deal about it. I already fed the dog, so I guess I’m just the type to throw scraps to mutts.” 

“Bakura.” Atem gasped and covered his mouth with both hands. His eyes were somehow wider and brighter than before. 

“What?” 

“Last night. I dreamt of you. We were drinking wine. You fed a dog a bone and said there were never enough scraps.” 

“I dreamt of a magi cutting off the head of a cow. So what? Don’t you get it? We’re sick. We have 3,000 year old garbage immune systems. We should probably be in a hospital, but fuck it. I’m going back to bed—and you need to get the fuck out now you’re awake.” 

Atem sighed, nodded, and stood. He crumpled to the ground before he managed a single a step. Atem held his head, wincing at the pain. He didn’t complain. Instead, he braced himself against the coffee table and struggled to stand. 

“Fuck. Guess you being here one more night won’t kill me.” Bakura raked his fingers through his white hair. “Swear to the gods, you better not die in my fucking living room because you know I’ll get blamed for it.” 

“I’m sorry. I..._oh_.” Atem dropped to the couch, curling into a ball. 

“Finish your damn soup.” Bakura refilled Atem’s water and brought it to him. 

Atem frowned at the glass. “I uh…I need to use your restroom.”

“Mother fucker. Of course you do. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Bakura grit his teeth. 

He slung Atem’s arm around his shoulder and helped him to the toilet while avoiding Taro who walked beside them.

“How did I get into a bathrobe?” Atem asked as he washed his hands. 

“Uuuh, your clothes were soaked?” Bakura spoke in a tone which suggested anyone _not_ an idiot would know as much. 

“Bakura…why are you helping me?” Atem hunched over the sink, bracing himself on the counter. He watched Bakura in the mirror, waiting for an answer. 

“I didn’t want wet clothes on my couch. Besides, I literally dragged you into the hall, but the puppy cried and it was annoying.” Bakura snorted. 

“Believable.” Atem held out an arm and allowed Bakura to guide him back to the couch. “Your dream—with the cow—feels so familiar. I swear I’ve seen it before.” 

“You’re a fevered, hallucinating mess. Go back to sleep, asshole.” Bakura dropped Atem onto the cushions and turned to go back to bed himself. 

“Do you think it’s possible we’ve lost some of our memories?” Atem blurted the question before Bakura could leave. “Even after the Memory RPG, I feel like there’s gaps. I hardly remember my father, and it seems like other important parts are missing. Are you having the same problem?” 

“Oh gee, you think maybe, just maybe, having our souls shacked up in evil artifacts created from agony, grief, and Shadow Magic might have fucked with us a bit, do you? Wow, you know, I’m sorry for all those times I’ve called you an idiot. You’re a fucking genius!” 

“Bakura. I’m trying to have a civil, relevant conversation with you.”

“And I’m going to go pass out now because this flu bullshit is worse than fucking dying, as we both know.” 

Bakura didn’t give Atem a chance to continue the discussion. He crashed into his bed and checked out. Taro woke him twice for bathroom breaks. Each time Bakura made sure he had food, and each time Atem was huddled on the couch asleep as well. The third time Bakura woke, he blinked, confused. The crying he heard wasn’t from Taro. A warm patter drip onto his neck and Bakura wiped the wetness away. Rolling on his back, Bakura looked up and saw Atem bawling over him. 

“Do you actually need to go to the hospital?” Bakura asked, groggy and disoriented because of his still present fever. 

“Bakari—you’re Bakari.” Atem flung himself on top of Bakura, clinging to him. 

“No, I’m Bakura. Stop calling me Bakari.” 

“You don’t remember?” Atem’s tears splashed against Bakura’s collarbone. “We wore wigs and traded fake names. You were Bakari and I was Anen. We drank wine, and danced, and—”

“It was a dream, Atem.” Bakura jerked into a seated position, shaking Atem’s shoulders. 

Atem still gripped onto Bakura as if afraid Bakura would disappear. He was half in Bakura’s lap, and Bakura held him in an awkward embrace to avoid toppling out of bed because of Atem’s weight against him. Something about Atem’s words...haunted Bakura. The thief wanted to be anywhere else. Doing anything else but holding Atem in his arms. His body somehow _remembered_ the feeling of embracing Atem. The exact way Atem’s weight pressed into him. The precise curves of Atem’s lithe frame. Bakura’s fingers were stroking Atem’s hair before he could think, and he jerked his hand away as if the magenta strands were live embers in a fire. 

“You saved my life.” Atem hiccuped with tears. “And then left me—I-I knew you’d leave that morning, but...Bakura, Bakura, why _my father_? I know you hated me, but to _drag him into the castle_?” 

“You bastards wore my family around your fucking necks! Don’t act surprised!” Bakura screamed. He thought Atem’s brain was fried, but the response jumped from his throat on reflex. 

“And Zorc? Fucking Zorc? I thought you were _better_ than that! You were a thief, but you weren’t a monster. Dammit, Bakura, what the _fuck_?” 

“Hey!” Bakura shouted. “What the fuck is right. What the fuck even brought this up?” 

“I still loved you!” Atem wailed, near hyperventilating after the words left his mouth. His face was tear-swollen and blotchy but his eyes burned as if he really did harbor the will of the gods.

“Wow. Fuck. Okay. You’ve lost it. Come on, get up. I’m calling Ryou. We’re getting Yugi. You’re going to the emergency room—”

“This is _not_ the ramblings of a fevered mind!” Atem dug his fingers into Bakura’s shoulders. “I remember the three nights we spent together!” 

“The three nights we—are you fucking serious?” Bakura laughed. All he could do was laugh. Atem was insane. Complete. Bat-shit. Nucking. Futz. “Talking like we were lovers or some bizarre shit.” 

“Yes! Three nights at a festival! We didn’t know who the other was until it was over.” Atem dragged his fingers through Bakura’s hair. “Please...remember, please. Remember this.” 

Atem twisted his fingers in Bakura’s hair and smashed their mouths together. Bakura jerked, lightning struck, and _fuck fuck fuck he did remember_. The festival. The magic show. The three nights in a bad hotel ending with an assassination attempt and Bakura’s heart _dying_ as the dawn sun evaporated the tears running down his cheeks. Bakura’s sobs broke their kiss. He doubled over, choking on phlegm. He didn’t want to remember. It hurt too badly, but the memories flooded through him. Now it was Atem holding him and comforting him, whispering to him in their native language about how Bakura’s hair never stopped being gorgeous.

“I told you. _I told you_.” Bakura wept. “Why should your father rest when mine was hanging from your fucking neck, Atem? Explain that to me?” 

“I didn’t know!” Atem cried. “My father didn’t either, and when Mahad told him he died in grief!” 

“I died in grief!” Bakura screamed. Taro whimpered, sitting on the floor and gazing up at them, but Bakura couldn’t compose himself enough to lift the puppy to the bed; instead, he screamed. “I died as a child! By the time we met I was another ghost haunting Kul Elna!” 

“You should have told me! That morning! You should have _talked to me_! But instead you disappeared for over a year, barged into the palace, dragged my father’s body in front of me, jeopardize the entire city with our fight, and tried to end the world! Bakura, there was no time for talking then. It was too late, but that morning, after saving my life—I owed you! We could have gone to Kul Elna. You could have explained—”

“You’re deluding yourself. Don’t you remember what a selfish brat you were? I tried to explain, but you didn’t feel like listening.” Bakura punched the mattress. “Don’t you understand? I was broken! My rage boiled my brains in my own skull! I couldn’t think! Why did I paraid your father’s body in front of the royal court? Because I knew I had to do something horrible when I saw you again or I would have leapt onto the throne and kissed you until the guards ran me through with every spear in the palace.” Bakura deflated. “I probably would have been better off dying then rather than going into the Ring.” 

Bakura shook with sobs. Out of words, Atem held them closer together and they both wept in grief. For their lives, their deaths, the fight destiny chose for them when they only wanted festivals and a shared bed. They cried themselves to sleep in each other’s arms. Bakura didn’t wake again until it was time to walk Taro and buy more ramen for breakfast. 

Atem stood in the living room when Bakura returned. He wore his own clothes. They were dry, though wrinkled, but Atem’s fever clearly hadn’t broke. 

“You can wash your clothes before you go,” Bakura said in a dry, tired voice. “And I brought more ramen.” 

“I’m not wanted here,” Atem said. 

Bakura slumped into his chair and gazed at the two containers of soup. His hands shook.

“It's a lot to remember all at once,” Bakura admitted in a rusty voice. 

“The more I remember, the more it hurts.” Atem clutched the material over his chest. “That’s why I have to go.”

“Why do you think I wasn’t in a rush to remember anything?” Bakura shot Atem a bitter look.

He couldn’t hold it. Atem’s expression was miserable, and while it should have been a joy to see, Bakura couldn’t help seeing Anen in the Pharaoh's features. Obviously they were the same, but it was the memories of Anen tearing into Bakura’s soul—screaming, demanding to be acknowledged. 

“You’re right.” Atem shook his head. “I was a naive brat. I should have questioned my court. I should have asked Isis to use her tauk to—”

“What good are regrets going to do now?” Bakura snapped. He opened the lid of his soup. “If you don’t eat—I’ll eat them both. I told you already.” 

Bakura shoveled noodles into his mouth. His fever raged; his entire body burned. Bakura held back tears as he focused on his meal. He couldn’t afford sentiment. He needed soup and rest. He needed to survive. Atem knelt in front of him, resting his hand on top of Bakura’s knee. 

“Bakura...thank you for everything you’ve done the last couple of days.”

“Idiot. You’re still sick. Lay your dumb ass on the couch.” Bakura lowered his bowl. His throat was too tight to swallow. 

“I can’t.” Atem shook his head. “I can’t look at you anymore, I—” The words broke and tears took their place. “I can’t.” 

Their gazes met. Bakura couldn’t breathe as he stared at Atem. The tears on Atem’s cheeks bothered Bakura. He wanted to brush them away. He wanted to wring Atem’s throat. 

“I’m so pissed off you ended up being the Pharaoh. Not even a priest, the fucking Pharaoh. Of all the fucking twinks in Egypt, I had to go and shack up with the fucking Pharaoh.” 

“Life’s a bitch.” Atem laughed, wiping the tears off his face. He dropped his hands to his side and turned away. “Well...I’ll see you around.”

“You owe me one more night!” The words burst from Bakura’s chest. He’d slipped out of Japanese and spoke in their native tongue. Bakura shoved his soup onto the table and stood, drawing up his full height as he challenged Atem with his stare. “That’s how it works with us. Three nights.” 

“Bakura...why on earth…?” Atem’s expression crumbled. “So we can remember how much we hurt each other? Or worse? Remember those three days _we didn’t hate each other_.” 

Bakura heard Atem, but struggled to look anywhere but Atem’s mouth. He remembered the way Atem liked to kiss right before he came. During their last night together, Bakura kissed those damn lips and used his thumb to press the kiss into them, wanting to seal it there forever. Three thousand years later, and Bakura wondered if it had worked. Could Atem feel Bakura lingering on his lips still? 

“What?” Atem asked. “Are you even paying attention?”

“You were there, without your guards, or priests, or the three gods. You offered your throat for me to cut, but...I couldn’t do it, and ended up losing everything—my life, my _nobel oath_—tossed aside because I _couldn’t kill you_...” 

“I remember,” Atem’s voice was hoarse. “I was so naive, I thought it meant you loved me enough not to attack the castle afterall which made it more devastating when you did.” 

“Had to fight. I _had to return the Items and unlock the afterlife_.” Bakura clenched his hand into a fist. “How could I have love? Or happiness? Or a life? When my entire village screamed in agony during Ra’s day and Thoth’s night?” 

Atem started and crashed to his knees. “Oh gods...you did try to tell me about your village, didn’t you? You said it burned. I’ve been telling myself you should have explained sooner, before we fought, because I thought I would have listened to you—but you _did_ and I didn’t believe you. What you said was so horrible that my mind couldn’t comprehend it as something _real,_ so I dismissed it.”

“Yes,” Bakura said. “Nice of you to finally remember that detail.” 

“I'm a fucking fool.” Atem clenched his fists.

“At least the gods took responsibility in the end,” Bakura grumbled, “And saved my people before shoving you and I into bodies again. Too bad they didn’t give me a chance to see any of them before I returned to this shit hole of a dimension.” 

“Yeah, I really wanted to see my father again, and meet my mother for the first time.” 

“You never knew her?” Bakura frowned. 

“She died giving birth to me.” 

“I didn’t know.” 

“I never told you.” Atem shrugged. “I should have talked to you more when we had the chance...I should have listened more…” 

“I was about to have a little brother or sister,” Bakura said. 

“I’m sorry.” After hearing Bakura’s words, Atem curled into the carpet and sobbed harder than before. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” Bakura shouted. “I was only mentioning it!” 

But Atem couldn’t respond. He shook his head _no_ over and over, face buried in the carpet. Taro came to him, pawing at his hair and whining. Bakura lowered himself to his hands and knees, crawling toward Atem on the floor. He reached out, but stroked Taro’s fur instead of Atem’s hair. 

“You said you never met your mother, so I thought of how I never met my sibling. It wasn’t a jab.” 

“How could Akhenaten make the Items?” Atem wailed into the floor. “I don’t understand. Even to end a war. There had to be a better strategy!”

Bakura didn’t answer, couldn’t answer without screaming. Atem’s nails raked through the carpet fibers and sobs wracked his body. Bakura stood, drank water, brought a cup to the living room and set it aside. He sat back in his chair, dragging his fingers through his hair. He was dizzy, and couldn’t focus. There was so much to think about, but it all swirled in his mind, nothing settling enough for him to grasp hold of. 

“I think…” Bakura began to say he needed a doctor, but he didn’t want to go, nor admit to the way his skin burned or the way the room spun. He reached for his soup, but his hand dropped. He wasn’t hungry. 

Atem forced himself to a kneel, smearing tears with the back of his arm. The gesture looked common, not something a king shouldn’t do. Bakura wanted to laugh and tease Atem for it, but he didn’t have the strength. He leaned in his chair and drew his knees into his chest. 

“I have no right to cry for your suffering.” Atem sniffed.

“Guess one of us ought to,” Bakura muttered. 

Maybe if he slept, he’d recover. Dammit, it was only a fever. Bakura couldn’t beat the Pharaoh in a Shadow Game, but he should at least have the strength to beat a fever fucking with his own damn body. Bakura closed his eyes. He would sleep. Sleep it off. He’d wake up to an empty apartment and feel bruised inside, but his fever would be gone and he could go about his life as usual as if Atem never brought a puppy to his door and collapsed on his floor. 

“Bakura?” 

Bakura grunted to acknowledge Atem, but didn’t speak or open his eyes. He couldn’t bother to. A cool hand lighted on Bakura’s forehead and he tilted into the touch, humming. 

“Gods, you’re scorching.” 

Bakura wanted to turn it into a joke—_scorching hot!_—but instead he tilted his face in hopes that the cool touch would travel along his burning face, soothing it. A pair of arms hooked around Bakura and lifted him to his feet. 

“What are you doing?” Bakura muttered. 

“We have to go to the bathroom. Right now.”

“I don’t have to go?” Bakura wrinkled his face, not understanding what Atem was on about. 

“Bakura, it hurts to hold you. We need to lower your temperature. If you don’t help me, I’m calling Yugi and we’re going to the hospital.”

“No hospital.” Bakura shoved Atem away and stumbled to the bathroom on his own, determined not to need or accept help.

Bakura leaned against the wall across from the toilet. The chilled drywall made him shiver even as it eased the fire on his skin. Atem marched to the shower, turned on the spray, and ripped off his clothes. Next, he jerked Bakura’s pants to the floor. Bakura chuckled, unable to stop the erotic memories from assaulting his mind. They were too strong. Bakura slipped his arm around Atem’s neck. He was going to draw Atem in for a kiss—to hell with it. _To hell with it_. But Atem dragged Bakura into the shower cubicle and beneath the stream of freezing water and Bakura cringed. 

“No. No. No. No. Atem, stop.” Bakura twisted to get away from the cold assaulting him, but Atem held him in place. 

“Bakura. Bakura look at me.” Atem held his face. He stood in front of the jet, taking the brunt with his back, but making sure some of the spray cooled Bakura’s skin. “This or the hospital—we should probably take you to the hospita—”

“No.” Bakura roped his arms around Atem to hold him in place, growling. “No! I don’t _want_ to go to the fucking hospital.” 

“I’m worried—”

“If the gods didn’t have enough sense to give us bodies strong enough to survive the flu then I don’t care if I die.” Bakura clenched his teeth, furious with his own weakness—especially in front of Atem.

“I care,” Atem said.

Bakura studied Atem’s face. Their teeth chattered. Their chests were pressed together; Atem’s cool and Bakura’s blazing. 

“Did your fever break?” Bakura stared at the gooseflesh puckering Atem’s shoulders.

“I think so.” Atem splashed frigid water onto Bakura’s chest. “Which means you should be almost over this as well. We just have to ride this out a little longer.” 

Bakura hissed, but didn’t stop Atem. He fell against the wall, allowing it to support him as Atem bathed him with water cold enough to burn his skin. Bakura snorted; burning from fever, burning from cold, he couldn’t win. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Atem whispered as he smoothed water over Bakura’s arms. “You’re going to be okay.” 

“It’s not okay.” Bakura shook his head, blinking shower mist out of his eyes. “It’s not okay.” 

“I know.” Atem crouched, rubbing down Bakura’s thighs and calves. 

Atem’s movement removed the barrier between Bakura and the shower. Bakura whimpered at the cold, shivered, balled his hands into fists. This was another agony to endure, the cold. 

“Once I had a fever, and Mahad conjured ice in a basin. They wrapped me in a thin cloth and dropped me into the tub. I thought they were trying to kill me; I cried.” 

“How old were you?” Bakura’s bottom right eye twitched at Mahad’s name. 

Atem thought a moment. “Nine? It worked, but I hated it...I understand if you hate this, and me, but it will help.”

“There’s so much bad blood between us.” Bakura stared at the tiles to his side. “Mahad saved your life. I took his.” 

“You took his life.” Atem stood, blocking the spray again. “And then I used his ka to kill you.” 

“I do enjoy irony.” Bakura glanced at Atem; Atem stared at Bakura in return. 

“There’s so much bad blood between us.” Atem shivered. 

“Yeah.” Bakura nodded, threading his fingers through Atem’s wet hair and pressing their noses together. 

“You said in any other life you’d love me for longer than three nights.” Atem broke away to push the nozzle and stop the dreaded spray of icy water. He grabbed the last towel from Bakura’s linen closet and dried Bakura before himself. 

“I remember.” Bakura stared at the floor while Atem mussed his hair dry with the towel. 

“Well...we’ve died. These are different lives.” Atem tossed the towel into the corner of the bathroom.

“Is it so easy?” Bakura asked, his tone sardonic. 

“This feels anything but easy.” Atem slipped an arm around Bakura and helped him to the bedroom. 

Atem threw the covers on top of Bakura and ran out of the room. He came back with the other three blankets and did a second trip to fetch Taro. Bakura smiled at the puppy. Instead of all his raging thoughts, Bakura focused on how soft Taro’s fur was as it slid between his fingers. 

“You brought soup,” Atem said. 

“It’ll be soggy now,” Bakura muttered.

“Too hungry to care.” Atem disappeared again, returned with their containers, both steaming from being reheated in the microwave.

After slurping the last of his ramen, Bakura set the container aside and burrowed into his sanctuary of blankets. His lids hung low over his eyes as Atem slipped beneath the covers with him.

“You’re hot, but less so than before,” Atem said.

“You’re shivering.”

“Cold after our shower, but a cold shower was probably the best thing for me,” Atem teased.

“Oh? Any specific memories tormenting you?” Bakura licked his lips.

“The last night,” Atem confessed. “When you sat in my lap and my fingers were inside you.” 

“I showed you what to do.” Bakura smirked. 

“My first partner wasn’t as good as you.” Atem blushed. 

Running his forearm across his brow, Bakura told himself the sweat beading around his temples was from his fever. However, the image of him rocking in Atem’s lap was vivid, and a shiver trilled through Bakura. 

“Tell me I’m stupid.” Atem sighed. 

“Why?” Bakura asked. 

“Three days isn’t even enough time… to fall in love.” Atem rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. 

“Is it not?” Bakura glanced at Taro sleeping in a crescent shape beside him. “A mother falls in love the instant she holds her child. And her affection only grows as the days move forward. I’m not sure it’s any different with lovers. There has to be the first spark, but afterward it depends on how you feed the fire if it grows or dies.”

“Bakura… that’s beautiful.” 

“Huh?”

“Your description of love.” 

“Pssshh, it’s the fever talking.” 

“I don’t think so.” Atem rolled on his side. 

He reached out, fingers hovering above Bakura’s face. Bakura wanted to grab Atem’s hand and press it to his cheek. He remembered Anen’s touch—the only touch Bakura ever endured in his adult life. He missed the sensation against his skin. 

“You were always more than I gave you credit for.” Atem pulled his hand away. A defeated sigh heaved from Atem’s lungs. He scooted closer and pressed his forehead against Bakura’s naked shoulder. “You wanted one more night, so I’ll stay.”

“I want to be Bakari.” Bakura laughed—bitter, at first, then in broken, near-sobbing bursts. “He was happy.”

“We can pretend tonight.” Atem flung his arms around Bakura, squeezed him, and buried his face against Bakura’s chest. “I won’t leave until your fever breaks if you don’t want me to.” 

Bakura grunted and buried himself within Atem’s embrace. Every ache in his muscles and every chill in his bones made Bakura want to be held, so he couldn’t reject the arms around him. With Atem holding him, Bakura fell asleep within minutes. Dreamless, his mind floated is soft, quiet, dark. Bakura’s growling stomach woke him in the middle of the night. 

“You okay?” Atem asked in a sleepy voice. He fussed over Bakura, brushing his fingers through Bakura’s hair, rubbing Bakura’s shoulders, pressing the back of his hand to Bakura’s forehead. “Thank the gods, your fever finally broke.” 

Bakura stared at his body as if forgot he owned it. He sweated beneath the layers of covers, but no longer shivered, nor did he ache. Atem was right. Bakura’s fever was gone. Taro noticed them awake and barked at them. 

“He probably needs to piss.” Bakura scrounged for clothes and searched for Taro’s leash. 

“I can do it.” Atem followed Bakura. 

“No one’s stopping you from coming along.” 

“But you should rest,” Atem said. 

“Hah, who do you think’s been walking him the last two days?” Bakura laughed as he fastened the leash to Taro’s collar and lead him to the door. 

“Bakura…you realize the entire time I was sick, you took care of both me and Taro, right? Despite being sick yourself?” 

“Well, I like the dog, so of course I cared for him.” Bakura opened the door, but Atem body-blocked him. 

“What about me?” 

“Did you want to hold the leash?” Bakura frowned, not understanding Atem’s question. 

“Do you like me?” Atem leaned forward, smiling. 

“I didn’t even remember who Anen was until last night.” 

“Your mind didn’t, but I wonder if your heart did.” Atem laced his fingers with Bakura’s so they held the leash together. 

“What are you doing?”

“I meant what I said before. These are different lives.” Atem dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet. “If you want to try.” 

Mouth dry, Bakura stared at his and Atem’s interlocked hands. He swallowed; his hand shook. Closing his eyes, Bakura exhaled a controlled breath. 

“Is this possible?” Bakura lifted his gaze to Atem’s face. 

“I like to gamble.”

“Shit, me too.” Bakura laughed. “Come on, if Taro pisses on the carpet your ass is scrubbing the floor.” 

Hand in hand, they walked around the block. The rain clouds cleared the night before, and the stars glittered across the black backdrop of the night sky. As they walked, a group of street punks glared at them. The hair on Bakura’s neck prickled. He jabbed his hand into his hoodie pocket, ready to pull his knife, but the leader caught sight of Atem and the entire group ran. 

“What the fuck was that all about?” Bakura whispered into Atem’s ear. “They looked like they saw a demon.” 

“I think I set those hooligans on fire once,” Atem answered. 

“You think—now hold on a fucking minute. You did what?” 

“They had it coming.” 

“They had it coming! Oh, how fucking rich!” 

“I had to protect Yugi!” Atem shouted. 

“So when I kill people it’s ‘murder’ and ‘wrong,’ but when you do it, it’s ‘protecting Yugi.’”

“I obviously didn’t kill them if they were standing in the street.” Atem rolled his eyes. “It was a Shadow Game.”

“So when I play Shadow Games—”

“You‘re so difficult. You’ve always been difficult.” Atem crossed his arms over his chest. 

“And you’ve always been privileged, enjoying a separate set of rules from the rest of us.” They rounded the corner and reached Bakura’s apartment complex. 

“Not anymore. There are no more Items for any of us. And two weeks ago, Seto beat me in Duel Monsters. Can you imagine?” Atem sounded aghast at the thought, but Bakura laughed. 

“Did he now? Bet he creamed himself when your LP hit 0.” 

“My point being, I’m not as god-favored as I used to be. Besides, did you really want to fight those guys at 3am when you’re still sick?” 

“Kinda.” Bakura marched into the kitchen. “Want some pancakes? I’m starving.” 

“Pancakes? It’s a little early for breakfast.” Atem removed Taro’s leash and refilled his food dish. 

“Recovery chow.” Bakura tore several ingredients from the fridge and cupboards, mixing everything haphazardly in a large bowl. 

“Hmm, guess I am pretty hungry. Need help?” 

“Do you know how to cook eggs?” 

“Actually…” Atem flashed him a sheepish look. “Yugi’s mom always cooks us breakfast, so—”

“Fucking gods, you need to grow the fuck up and learn to take care of your own damn self. Grab the eggs out of the fridge.” 

Bakura walked Atem through the process of frying eggs. By the end, they sat at the kitchen table with fluffy pancakes and broken—but edible—eggs. They shoveled the food into their mouths, both hungry from days with only ramen to eat between fevered naps. Soon all their plates were cleared, and they leaned into their seats, talking about their favorite technological advances over the last 3,000 years. 

“Do you have an extra toothbrush?” Atem asked after their conversation waned. 

“Probably. Check under the sink.” 

Bakura shoved the dishes in the dishwasher while Atem primped in the bathroom. Bakura tossed Taro his ball for a few minutes, but eventually wandered back to his room. Slipping out of his clothes, Bakura crawled into bed. His heart raced in his chest as he heard Atem walk into the room. 

“You asleep?” Atem asked.

Bakura grunted in response. 

“Want some company?” Atem stepped closer. 

Bakura peeled the covers away from his body, revealing he was naked. Atem ran his fingers through his hair as he stared at Bakura. 

“Well?” Bakura asked in a smooth voice despite his stomach twisting in knots. 

“I—I’ve dreamt of this,” Atem stuttered. “Long ago, after we first parted. I don’t know how many nights I thought of you stealing into my bedroom as the Thief King and raviging me despite swearing you were my enemy.” Atem’s face flushed deep, deep scarlet. “Gods, I was a moron.” 

“No, no, no. Tell me all about your fantasies about the Thief King. I like to role play. Who knows?” Bakura winked. “I might make some of those dreams come true.” 

“Bakura, swear to me you won’t regret this in the morning.” Atem piled his clothes on the floor before slipping beside Bakura. 

“Technically, it’s already morning.” Bakura held Atem’s face, pulling his close enough to kiss. 

“Be honest, do you still hate me?” Atem studied Bakura’s face. 

“It’s complicated. My family is safe, but thousands of years of emotion doesn’t vanish overnight…” Bakura’s words caught in his throat. 

“It’s all right…” Atem pressed his palm to Bakura’s heart. His words were calm, but his expression rueful. 

“Atem…” Bakura licked his lips. “I want to kiss you, and I don’t want to stop. I have spent _so much time_ hating you, and it destroyed me every time.” Bakura’s eyes lidded as he hovered his lips closer to Atem’s mouth. “In our final moments together, when I swore I’d stop loving you once the sun rose and the festival concluded...I lied. I never stopped. I forgot, but I didn’t stop.” 

Atem nodded, speechless. They ghosted their lips together, tentative and experimental. A desperate rush of emotion overwhelmed Bakura. These were kisses they were never meant to taste, and Bakura was hungry for them. He slipped his tongue into Atem’s mouth, deepening each kiss and drawing breathless moans from the once-pharaoh. 

“Oh gods.” Atem ran his fingers through Bakura’s platinum hair, combing it as he kissed all over Bakura’s face. He sniffled, eyes gleaming. 

“Hey.” Bakura brushed a tear away from Atem’s cheek with his thumb. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever kiss you again.” Atem threw himself into another kiss, sucking on Bakura’s lips and tugging his hair. 

“I know,” Bakura whispered between passes of their lips. His voice mournful. “I know.” 

“But you’re here. We’re here...together.” 

And the screams of a dead village no longer echoed in Bakura’s ears. He wasn’t sure if this was forgiveness. Bakura knew how fragile Atem’s neck bones were as his fingers touched Atem’s throat, but those fingers were careful as Bakura’s nails grazed down Atem’s skin. Bakura didn’t think it was forgiveness. It was understanding: the understanding of how brittle a soul grew after thousands of years...and it was holding someone else’s soul in your hands gently, careful not to drop it unless your own soul fell and shattered with it. It was love and hate tangling together in Bakura’s heart the same way he and Atem tangled their limbs together beneath the sheets, but risking everything on the bet that—if they explored this path—their love would grow and soften all the sharp edges of the past. 

Atem sucked hard against the side of Bakura’s neck. Bakura tossed his head back and gasped. Atem’s fingertips ran across the scars poxing Bakura’s body. He lingered at a specific one. Shifting down, Atem kissed the slash over and over and over. 

“You’re good with a sword,” Bakura said. “Got any from me?” 

“Here.” Atem pointed to a faint scar along his ribs. 

Bakura twisted until he was above Atem, kissing the knick. 

“And here.” Atem dragged his finger lower on his body, circling around a pockmark near his naval. 

Bakura shimmied lower, kissing the next mark. 

“And…” Atem traced along his skin, brushing his finger along his pelvis. “Here...somewhere.”

Bakura kissed the path Atem’s finger made over his skin. His gaze flicked upward. “I don’t see a scar anywhere down here.”

“Keep looking.” Atem threaded his fingers through Bakura’s hair. 

With a grin on his face, Bakura kissed everywhere except Atem’s erect cock. He lapped at Atem’s shaved sack, drawing a desperate moan from Atem, but continued to avoid where he knew Atem wanted his mouth. 

“Sadistic as always.” Atem sighed. 

“What do you mean? I’m looking for the scar. Haven’t found it yet.” 

“Do you have lube?” Atem hitched against Bakura’s kisses to his thighs. 

Bakura fetched a bottle from beneath his mattress. He waved it over Atem’s face. Atem grabbed it and doused his own asshole. 

“Subtle.” Bakura smirked. 

“Put those nimble fingers to work.” Atem flashed a smug grin at Bakura. 

Bakura held out two fingers, waiting for Atem to anoint them with the lube. He circled his middle finger around Atem’s asshole, slipping it in as deep as it could reach. 

“You know what a thief’s best at?” Bakura asked. 

“Evading my guards?” 

“Finding hidden treasure.” Bakura added a second finger crooked them until they brushed Atem’s prostate. 

The change in Atem’s expression was instant. His eyes lost focus, growing brighter with desire. Bakura dragged his fingers along the soft tissue, alternating between light strokes and heavy circles. Atem’s pants deepened to throaty, wild cries. The sounds shot to Bakura’s cock. It twitched as Bakura continued to drive Atem insane with light brushes of only two finger tips. 

“Holy shit!” Atem bit his bottom lip. “I never knew...how good...gods-fucking-dammit!”

Atem arched, thrusting his cock skyward. He sat up, grabbing Bakura’s wrist to stop him. Bakura shot Atem a questioning glance. Atem grabbed Bakura’s shoulders, spun Bakura, and shoved his back onto the mattress. Using more lube, Atem coated Bakura’s cock and plunged himself low, taking Bakura’s length to the base. 

“_Ahh_!” Bakura’s fingers clenched at the sheets. 

The tight, tight, _hot_ sensation of Atem’s body clenching Bakura’s cock took Bakura by surprised. Atem bucked, balancing his hands on Bakura’s chest as he bounced on his dick. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Atem shrieked at the ceiling. 

Bakura lay there, mouth dropped open. Atem’s urgent cries, the way he squeezed around Bakura's girth, the sway of his hair as he rocked his body, how the once-king rode Bakura like Bakura was a stolen horse, the experiences rushed together in a blurr, stealing Bakura away with them. He dissolved into the moment, reaching out and clutching Atem’s cock. 

“_Ahh! Ah! Ah! Ahhh!” _Atem’s cries grew shrill as Bakura stroked him. 

Bakura toes stretched and curled. Rapture flooded through him as his orgasm possessed his entire body. 

“Atem!” Bakura screamed, screaming Atem’s true name the way it was _meant_ to be screamed—with passion. 

“Bakura! Bakura! Bakura! Fuck!” Atem arched, came, doubled over, and braced his hands braced against Bakura’s chest. 

They gasped for breath, drenched in sweat and staring at each other. 

“I’ve—never...I’ve never came like that before.” Atem panted. “That was...incredible…”

“You must have fucked my brains out because I can’t think of a single boastful thing to say in response to that.” Bakura closed his eyes. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. 

“I’m exhausted.” Atem rolled to Bakura’s side. 

Bakura curled an arm around Atem. They pressed together, but their bodies were slick and radiating heat so Bakura rolled onto his stomach on the cooler half of the bed. He reached out, locking his fingers with Atem’s with one hand to stay connected despite the space between them. Atem cooed, giving Bakura’s hand a squeeze. Seconds later, he snored. 

“Figures.” Bakura muttered against his pillow before falling asleep himself. 

***

Bakura yawned and stretched, rolling his ankles as he mind fully woke. He glanced at the empty bed beside him. Bakura sat up, swearing to the cruel, useless gods that the night before better not have been a fever-dream, but Atem’s voice echoed from the living room, and the bottle of lube sat on the floor near the bed. Bakura exhaled, stopping to piss before creeping down the hall to spy on Atem. 

Atem stood in front of the couch. He wore Bakura’s bathrobe and folded his freshly laundered clothes and all the towels Bakura had discarded onto the floor after drying Atem their first night. Atem’ cellphone sat tucked between his cheek and shoulder as he apologized repeatedly. 

“I know...I know. I’m sorry. I know you were worried. I’m sorry. I told you, we were both too sick to call anyone… No… Yes. No, no, don’t call the doctor. We’re fine. Yes, we _were_ too sick, but I feel great now. I promise… Yes. Um…” Atem glanced at Bakura. “Maybe later this afternoon… You don’t have to do that… Yugi, Bakura and I have to...talk about some things. I’ll come home tonight.” 

Bored, Bakura slipped his arms around Atem’s waist, tugging him close and massaging his mouth against the nape of Atem’s neck. 

“Uh...yes. Hey, Yugi, I should be going now… I told you, we have to talk… No, it can’t wait. 3,000 years is long enough. Okay… Yes. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.” 

Bakura crawled his fingers up to Atem’s chest, sneaking them behind the robe and pinching Atem’s nipple. 

“U-um, ye-yes. Sorry again for making everyone worry. Yes, please call the others for me and let them know I’m-ah-okay.” 

Bakura tore open the robe and rolled Atem’s balls in his palm. 

“Goodbye, Aibou!” Atem tossed the phone on the sofa, reaching behind him and yanking Bakura’s hair. “You fucking bastard.” 

“Watching you fold clothes like a lowly commoner is sexy as fuck,” Bakura teased. 

“You’re a pest.” Atem writhed in Bakura’s grip. 

“Which means you can’t get rid of me.” Bakura curled his fingers around Atem’s cock. 

“Don’t stop,” Atem begged, bucking into Bakura’s clenched fist. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Bakura kissed the shell of Atem’s ear as he stroke him. 

“Ah! Bakura!” 

“My favorite subject.” Bakura chuckled against Atem’s neck as he nipped at the skin. 

“Are...we…” Atem’s body tensed, his orgasm nearing with each flick of Bakura’s wrist. “What do we do now?” 

“Fuck, eat breakfast, walk the puppy.” Bakura nudged his hard cock against Atem’s backside, showing how aroused he was from touching Atem. 

“And after that? Tomorrow? Next week? Next year?” 

“He won’t be a puppy by next year.” Bakura ground against Atem’s body, still stroking Atem as with one hand and pinching Atem’s nipple with the other. 

“I can’t keep him... Not at the Game Shop.” Though Atem panted, a tint of sadness entered his voice at the confession. 

“Who said I was going to let you take my puppy to the Game Shop?”

“Our puppy.” The sadness which entered Atem’s voice when he said he couldn't keep Taro, vanished the moment he knew Bakura would look after him. 

“If he’s our puppy, you shouldn’t leave him,” Bakura said. 

“Are you suggesting I move in? We’d kill each other!” 

“Nothing we haven’t tried to do already.” Bakura couldn’t take it anymore. 

He hurled Atem to the chair beside them and pounced in Atem’s lap. Grabbing both of their cocks, Bakura frotted their dicks together, breathing heavy as his own pleasure climbed. Atem’s nails dug into the chair’s upholstered arms. He tossed back his head, scrunching his eyes shut as held his breath, too close to speak. Bakura stroked them together. His whines echoed in the living room as the chair creaked beneath their weight. With a final shout, Atem wrapped his arms around Bakura’s waist. Bakura came in Atem’s embrace. 

Their bodies were damp where they pressed together. He felt sweat stick to the chair where his knees dug in. After a recovery breath, Bakura dropped to the floor. He used some nearby tissue to clean Atem’s belly and held Atem’s hard cock. 

“Don’t think I’ve tasted you yet.” Bakura locked his gaze on Atem. 

Atem’s face flushed as Bakura lowered his mouth. He ran his tongue around Atem’s cockhead then slammed down to his base. Atem tugged at Bakura’s hair, praising Bakura’s sweet mouth in their original dialect. 

“Thank the gods for making your mouth so big!” 

Bakura held his breath to keep from laughing at the double meaning behind Atem’s words. He sucked and bobbed his head. Atem’s girth thickened, stretching to its limits. Atem thrusted deeper into Bakura’s mouth, guiding Bakura by the hair as he came screaming. Afterward, Bakura rested his head in Atem’s lap, and Atem stroked his hair. 

“We really do need to talk more,” Atem said. 

“We really do need to eat breakfast and walk Taro,” Bakura answered. 

“Didn’t we already eat breakfast once today?” Atem teased. 

“We already fooled around once too, but I didn’t hear you complaining when I was sucking your dick.” 

“And you think you want to live with me?” Atem laughed. 

“Listen to me.” Bakura sat on his haunches. He grabbed Atem’s hands, squeezing them in his own. “You go and work things out with Yugi, but if you’re not back here by sunset, I’ll do what I should have done thousands of years ago.”

“Get a real job?” Atem raised an eyebrow. 

“Break into your room and steal you.” 

Atem bit his lower lip to suppress the grin on his face. 

“Think I’m bluffing?” Bakura asked. 

“No.” Atem shook his head. “Which is why my heart’s pounding so fast.” 

“Yeah?” Bakura grinned. “From fear?” 

Atem slid to his knees so they knelt face-to-face. He held Bakura’s shoulders as they kissed. Pulling away, Atem drew the shape of Bakura’s bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. 

“Does this mean I have to learn not to break the eggs?” Atem’s eyes were glassy with emotion as he smiled. 

“‘’Fraid so.” Bakura gave him a solemn nod. 

They broke into laughter, foreheads pressed together. Their noses bumped and they both blushed as they looked at each other. Bakura held Atem’s hands, helping him to his feet and guiding him to the kitchen. Atem sighed as he gathered more eggs. 

“Not sure how I’ll explain this to the others. Hey guys, we haven’t really forgiven each other for the past, but Bakura and I decided we wanted to love each other anyway because one night 3000 years ago we got drunk and shagged during a festival honoring Sekhmet.” 

“Which part of that are you unsure of because it sounded accurate to me.” Bakura mixed pancakes while Atem practiced cracking the eggs in the skillet without having to fish out flecks of shell afterward. 

“They’re going to think the fever melted my brain.” 

“I think it melted mine.” Bakura grinned, bumping his hip against Atem’s. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here cooking breakfast with you…” Bakura paused, barely speaking the next words. “I’m happy.”

Atem raised on his toes to press deep, careful kisses on the back of Bakura’s neck. He shook the kibble to call the puppy, and Taro burst into the kitchen. When the food was ready, they sat and ate together—pancakes and over cooked eggs with broken yolks. 

“I’m not getting any better at this.” Atem laughed at his failed eggs. 

“Takes more than twice. You can try again tomorrow.” Bakura shoved an entire egg into his mouth and hummed in approval to show Atem how things didn’t have to be perfect to be good. 


End file.
